


Here I Come to Save the Day

by prettyasadiagram



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:33:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyasadiagram/pseuds/prettyasadiagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Danny can't leave well enough alone and Steve makes Faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here I Come to Save the Day

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by phemie's amazing "Here I Come to Save the Day" H50-Mighty Mouse fanvid. 
> 
> http://vimeo.com/16121373
> 
> thanks to that damneddame for reminding me that two hyphens equal a dash

The truth is, it’s been a long week, lots of late nights and bloodshot eyes, Danny’s hair progressively beginning to defy gravity as a casualty of this horrible, time-suck of a case. By the time it’s all over, the Camaro needs a new side mirror, Kono has a black eye, and Steve has helpfully mule-kicked the guy before saying, “Book ‘em, Danno,” and leaving Danny with the resulting paperwork to be filled out in triplicate. 

On the car ride back, Danny ignores Steve and plans the paperwork in his head, trying to come up with new and polite, official ways to say: My partner jettisoned himself out of a moving car, ran the asshole down on foot, and then kicked him the chest, powered by his memories of climbing vines with a bowie knife clenched between his teeth. He was pretty sure the Governor also wouldn’t buy: Commander McGarrett flushed out the felon by scaring him with warning shots. The subsequent explosion was a result of the unlabeled nearby barrel drums that were filled with gasoline. Please accept our apologies. Oops.

Danny looks at Steve, takes in the shit-eating grin and scrape on his cheek. “Just one day, that’s all I ask, can I have one day without you doing stupid shit? I get enough heart palpitations from Gracie without your help.”

Steve just shrugs. “What, I got him.”

“You got—not my point, Steven. Not even close to my point. Immunity and means does not equal fuel explosions in populated areas!” Danny tugs at his hair.

“Mhm, you’re right—absolutely right—and I can see you feel very strongly about this. Why don’t you come over, pretend to swim, I’ll barbecue, you bring the beer.”

Danny scrubs at his mouth. “I bring the beer? Ha, no, you blow up shit, you bring the beer. That’s how this works. You’ll barbecue, you’ll provide the beer, and I will supply the pleasure of my company and that is all.”

\---

It’s not like Danny means to find them, but he’s dripping all over Steve’s hardwood floor and isn’t looking forward to hearing another lecture from him on the importance of home maintenance, how a home is a man’s hermitage or some shit like that, so really, it begins with “fuck, Steve, why do you have a gazillion hand towels but no actual towels? Do you collect these or something—holy shit these are color-coordinated, you giant dork. But seriously, my kingdom for a person-sized towel,” and turns into “Steve. What are these? Oh shit, are these—it’s like Christmas, a bit of cheer because I’ve only punched you once this month—Steve, why do you have Mighty Mouse sheets?”

Danny holds them out at arm’s length, gives them a considering look as Steve skids around the corner. They look fairly new.

Steve blanches, does a little shuffle (probably sand, Danny told him that lying on the beach was a bad idea). “My, um, cousin, no, Mary, got them for me—when I was a kid. I don’t—Danny, just– put them back? Sentimental value and all.”

“No way, not gonna happen, and since I’m mostly sure you sprang fully-developed from your dad’s skull, I call bullshit. And these are huge, Steven, six-foot Navy Seal sized. I’ve seen your old room. Trophies on the wall, skin mags under the bed, the twin sized bed. Spill.”  
“It’s nothing, OK? Definitely Mary, she got them for me, a going away present when I joined the Navy. No big deal.” Steve looks shifty. Danny looks at the sheets, looks at Steve.

“That’s your lying face.”

Steve scoffs. “I don’t have a ‘lying face.’”

“Yeah, you do. It’s sort of a cross between your ‘I hate paperwork face, can I make Danny do it’ and your ‘Maybe I can pretend his nose was bleeding before I got here’ face.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Doubtful, my friend, very doubtful.”

Steve keeps silent.

Danny points his finger at him. “Don’t think I’ll forget about this, but I believe you promised me steak?” Danny laughs at how Steve’s shoulders slump in something that looks like relief. He should know better. No way is Danny letting this one go.

\---

But in fact, Danny does forget about “this,” for about a week and a half.

To be fair, the Yakuza was making all kinds of waves, illegal gambling, etc, and Steve was rocking some crazy eyes around day three with too little sleep. There was even camo paint at one point, although Danny argued very loudly that it was completely unnecessary.

(“I’m just saying, I don’t see why every time we drive off into the jungle, you feel the need to get in touch with your inner child and put on the face paint. I’m sure it was extremely useful in the Army, but Steven, these are not the wilds of someplace that you’ll swear you’ve never been!”

“NAVY. Say it with me, Danny, NAVY. I was in the Navy.” Steve gestures emphatically.

“Oi! When you drive my car, hands on the wheel! You know this. Also, Navy, shmavy, you’re missing the point.”

“No, because your point is dumb. I was a Boy Scout. I’m a Navy Seal. I am preparing myself for any possible situation.”

“See, what’s going to happen is this: you’ll do some ninja stunt-work, we’ll catch this dick-wad, and then you’re going to scare some suburban mom because you forgot to wash your face before rejoining civilization. Maybe, if we’re very lucky, you can make another kid cry.”

“That only happened once, and those were extenuating circumstances.”

“Yeah. You were wearing face-paint.”)

The point being, it wasn’t just Danny being sensitive, no matter what Steve said, because when Chin comments you know it’s bad. Chin usually just stands behind Steve, shotgun at the ready and cheekbones extra defined, the only hint that it’s been just as long for him as well, but when he says, “Brah,” in that very carefully measured tone of voice that he only pulls out when the shit has really hit the fan—well, you step lightly and back the fuck off.

\---

(Truthfully, Danny remembers the sheets when he checks the calendar and realizes it has been almost two weeks since Steve has looked like a normal person, one who won’t fall over if Gracie tackles him, almost two weeks since Danny has seen him laugh and look less like a robot and more like Steve, Steve who has more washcloths and a better organized linen closet than Rachel, so no one can say what happens next wasn’t a much-deserved moment of levity.)

\---

It’s Danny’s weekend with Grace, and it nearly breaks his heart to look Steve in the eye and say sorry, we’ve already got plans so we won’t be over for the usual beach-and-barbecue this weekend, but it’s true. Danny’s got Plans. Well, mostly he’s got a thick stack of Mighty Mouse coloring books, 2 boxes of the 120-count crayons, and a young daughter who’d do anything to make Uncle Steve smile, but it’s still a plan.

But if he has to remind himself of this several times, because Steve’s shoulders slump when he walks away, it’s a good thing there’s no one in the office to see it.

(Aside from the fact that Steve’s presence would ruin the surprise, Danny’s honestly not sure if Steve is prepared for the sheer amount of energy that is Gracie + crayons + candy. And yeah, he knows candy rots your teeth, he can totally hear the Steve-voice in his head telling him the rate that sugar rots enamel if left unchecked, but he’s not the one paying for the dentist appointments, so no skin off his nose.)

\---

Danny’s almost halfway through the stack of paperwork he abandoned over the weekend by the time Steve gets in. Paperwork always stresses him out, gives him—if he were inclined to faces, which, that is Steve’s department, thank you very much—the “if I have to come up with one more euphemism for Steve going all Navy Seal on someone’s ass, I’m going to punch someone—probably Steve—in the face” face, but he schools his expression the moment he sees Steve walk into the office.

Steve stops in Danny’s doorway. “How, uh—how was your weekend with Grace?”

Danny decides to cut him some slack. “Only minimal chest pain, thank you for asking. Gracie had a school trip to the zoo, so on the plus side, more supervision, but on the other, Gracie was holding hands with that kid from the pool, Dylan, Ted Bundy, whatever his name is, so I could’ve used your Neanderthal glare. Give him a good fright.” 

“I told you, you got nothing to worry about. I’m sure he’s a nice kid.” 

“False, Steven, but I appreciate the lie. He’s making the moves on my daughter. Unacceptable.” 

“It’s like talking to a wall; I give up, so I will leave you to your delusions of Ted Bundy giving your daughter the eye, but first–” Steve points at Danny’s desk. “You still working on that paperwork, I thought you finished that?”

“Let me address your first point: No—no, I do not know he’s a ‘nice kid.’ So until I know, I’m keeping an eye on him. And for your second observation: very good Steve, one might—erroneously, mind you—one might even think you’ve had some training in this sort of matter. To be frank, I would’ve been done with this paperwork, hours ago, if someone hadn’t destroyed hundreds of thousands of dollars of public property last week, which requires much more paperwork than previously expected. Are you offering your assistance, Steve? I could always use another set of hands. I’ve got some crayons in the desk you can use, if you want. I know you like to write outside the lines.” Danny grins, showing teeth.

“Nah, man, I wouldn’t want to step on any toes.” Steve backs off, laughing.

Danny watches as he strolls over to the main computer, travel thermos in hand. From the relative safety of his office and ergonomic desk chair, he has a clear view of Steve turning on the main computer, and then wandering to his office. He takes a minute to admire the clean line of Steve in his khakis and horrible polo shirt walking down the hall, and waits for the inevitable explosion. It should be a good one; Steve looks calm, well, as calm as bugfuck crazy can be.

And oh, when it happens, it’s fucking glorious. It’s worth every lollipop he found stuck to the couch and the phone call, voicemail really, from Rachel, thanking him for returning Grace in the middle of her sugar crash.

Steve spews coffee everywhere. It’s beautiful and it must be Danny’s birthday. Surely Chin can get him the video of those five seconds where Steve looks like someone slapped him in the face.

“Danny. Just, what?”

Danny wanders over to stand behind Steve, bracing himself on the doorway. Grace and he did a great job, no shame in boasting. Every surface of Steve’s office is plastered with Mighty Mouse coloring book pages in the most bizarre color combinations that he and Grace could come up with. Each picture is signed, “To Uncle Steve, Love, Gracie.” The effect is at once overwhelmingly sweet and blinding. 

“What is this?” Steve asks, with this ridiculous, heartbreaking half-smile on his face. “Did you—I thought you went to the zoo?”

“We did, we just colored before. And after. And a little bit the next morning. You’re lucking she didn’t insist on coloring during. There would’ve been nacho cheese everywhere.” Danny offers Steve a napkin. “You’ve got a little–“ and motions to Steve’s chin, still dripping coffee.

“I don’t understand.”

Danny nudges Steve’s shoulder. “It’s not that hard, babe; you’ll figure it out.”

\---

(Of course, Chin and Kono couldn’t leave well enough alone:

“Can you explain why there are Mighty Mouse pictures all over the office desktop?” The vein in Steve’s forehead looked ready to make a break for freedom.

“You know that’s Chin’s baby; I don’t touch it. He said something about breaking my fingers next time I mess with the settings,” Danny stifles a grin. “But I may have mentioned those sheets of yours to him, and well, you still have a couple pictures left in your office… Chin’s a detective, you know, he can put two and two together.”

“I hate you–” Steve’s cut off by his cell phone playing the Mighty Mouse theme song. He grimaces, “–so much. This conversation isn’t over.”

“You’ve got ‘Aneurysm Face,’ Steve, breathe, ‘short, short, long,’” Danny smiles broadly, “it might keep your head from exploding.”)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost this work in its entirety or share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads.


End file.
